Chapter 20: When the Time Is Sparse

Twenty minutes later.

Zhang Zhiyong found Li Heng and immediately complained: “What the hell! Why do you run when you see me? Am I that ugly?”

“I just choked on my own shit and needed you to pay my fare.”

Li Heng cut him off, asking with concern: “No one jumped the fare?”

“Hey! How could that happen? A few old ladies ran off without paying, but since we’re all familiar faces, I didn’t make a scene—I pretended I didn’t see them.” Zhang Zhiyong grinned, grinding his teeth in frustration.

Rural villages have always been a mix of good and bad people; such things were common, and Li Heng didn’t bother comforting him. He pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and shoved them into Zhang Zhiyong’s hand:

“I didn’t use all the money for the parcel. Here’s your change.”

Zhang Zhiyong didn’t even look at the money—he stuffed it in his pocket, then pushed Li Heng excitedly toward the left: “Come on, let’s go eat noodles at Sister Chun’s place. You won’t believe it—this boss lady is so hot, it’s insane. Even the chili peppers stand up the moment they see her.”

Li Heng chuckled teasingly: “Chili peppers? How many have you even seen that big? But come to think of it, you’re kinda like them.”

Zhang Zhiyong took it as a compliment, grinning slyly: “Even small chilies can make her sweat all day.”

That’s your fucking stepmother you’re talking about—say things like that and your old man’ll whip you, Li Heng thought to himself, but kept the truth to himself.

Sister Chun was a widow; her husband died in his early twenties from pneumonia.

In modern times, that illness wouldn’t be serious—just a hospital stay, a few injections, ten days and done.

But in the 1970s, many families couldn’t even afford enough to eat—how could they afford medicine? Even if they scraped together a few coins, where would they get the drugs?

It’s said two teams were sent out to beg for medicine—one to the provincial capital Changsha, the other to neighboring Wuhan. After exhausting every effort and saying every possible plea, they managed to bring back only four vials of penicillin. They kept him alive for three months, but he still died from lack of medicine.

Sister Chun’s noodle shop was new, but business was extraordinary—packed wall to wall with people: children, women, but mostly men.

The boss lady looked just as he remembered: while most women had four taels of flesh on their chests, she had at least a full jin on each side—her figure was explosively voluptuous. No wonder she had Zhang Zhiyong, that idiot, completely bewitched.

“Boss lady, two bowls of noodles—extra spicy,” Li Heng called out as soon as he stepped in, then looked for an empty seat.

Zhang Zhiyong added behind him: “And pile on the mountain pepper oil—I love it.”

As his father’s mistress, Sister Chun naturally knew Zhang Zhiyong—not only did she serve them quickly without waiting in line, but she even gave them more than everyone else’s portions.

When the noodles arrived and the boss lady walked away, Zhang Zhiyong drooled, grinning smugly:

“Bro, help me figure this out—why do we get more noodles for the same price? Is the boss lady into me?”

Li Heng had just taken a bite and nearly spat it out laughing. After a moment, he replied gently: “She knows your dad. Either she’s giving you extra because of him, or she just shook the bowl too hard.”

“Don’t make a fool of yourself. Everyone knows trouble follows widows’ doors—can you really think she’d prefer you over your neighbor’s sister?”

At the mention of the neighbor’s sister he’d once stolen underwear from, Zhang Zhiyong instantly changed the subject, frowning and whining: “After middle school, Qiqi-sister got assigned to work in Hengyang. She didn’t even come home for New Year’s last year—I wonder how she’s doing?”

Li Heng glanced sideways, swallowed three more bites of noodles, then asked: “She’s years older than you—still thinking about her?”

“A woman three years older brings gold bricks. Older is better—I like them older. Besides, I put so much effort into her—I can’t just forget.” As he spoke, he remembered all the dirty things he’d done, and his confidence faded.

Li Heng nearly laughed at the word “effort,” but didn’t call him out. He urged: “Eat up. We need to go back—my second sister’s going to school this afternoon.”

“Oh? Changed your tune? Today she’s ‘second sister’? You’re not calling her ‘the she-devil’ anymore?”

Zhang Zhiyong’s expression was exaggerated, as if seeing him for the first time, scanning him left and right like a curious child.

It wasn’t strange he felt this was sudden—Li Heng had always held a terrible opinion of Li Lan.

Because Zhang Zhiyong had followed Li Heng around since childhood, they were always beaten together—and always badly. Their asses were always bruised, arms swollen. The trauma was deep—almost a curse.

He couldn’t explain his rebirth, and wouldn’t explain it to anyone. Li Heng replied vaguely:

“Forget everything else—just for standing up for me and beating the hell out of Fatty Aunt, I owe her a thumbs-up.”

“That’s true! She’s our role model!” Zhang Zhiyong had witnessed with his own eyes how Li Lan chased Fatty Aunt with a sickle—he admired her utterly.

After eating, Zhang Zhiyong didn’t delay—he had to earn his living. He grabbed his brother and drove the hand-pulled tractor into the village, swaying wildly.

Halfway there, Li Heng saw a cheerful sight: the father and son who’d splashed him with mud that morning had slipped into a rice paddy. The fat boy sat in the mud, wailing loudly; his bicycle looked badly bent, unusable.

The fat boy spotted Li Heng. Li Heng gave him a “polite” smile—grinning widely. The boy stopped crying instantly, grabbed a handful of mud, and hurled it at the tractor.

Wild! So damn wild!

The mud missed Li Heng but landed in the back of the truck, triggering a chorus of curses from the women, followed by laughter—the atmosphere was electric as they returned to Shangwan Village.

When they entered the house, the second sister had already packed her things and was about to leave.

Seeing this drastically changed younger brother, Li Lan broke her usual coldness and suddenly said: “You’ve got half a year left before the college entrance exam. Shape up. Get into a good university.”

“And when you marry, bring home a wife better than Chen Zijin—show these village fools what real achievement looks like.”

Li Heng stared at her, then helped carry her luggage.

Just before the door, Li Lan turned back unexpectedly and said: “Best not date Yang Ying.”

Li Heng was surprised. “Did Yang Ying bother you?”

Li Lan replied coolly: “She dares?”

Then she added: “Yang Ying isn’t pretty enough to overshadow Chen Zijin.”

Li Heng: “...”

No wonder she’s my second sister—deep down, she’s fiercely proud, can’t stand even a sliver of defeat.

The second sister left, stepping past the threshold without looking back.

The street bum Zhang Zhiyong turned into a timid little turtle in front of her—quietly, obediently drove her to town, not daring to breathe loudly the whole way.

After watching Li Lan board the bus, Zhang Zhiyong turned to Li Heng: “When do we go back to school? Tomorrow or the day after?”

Li Heng asked casually: “Did Yang Ying ask you?”

Zhang Zhiyong grumbled: “How could she? She’s not going with us—why would she ask?”

Li Heng thought for a moment, then replied: “The day after tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll bring back a few more loads of firewood for the family.”

“Why gather firewood? Cut trees instead—I’ll help you tomorrow,” Zhang Zhiyong offered generously.

“Fine. Trees burn longer.”

(End of chapter)